Grandy.” Natalie spoke her grandfather’s name softly, with as much gentleness as she could muster. “It’s time to go.”

As she stepped through the door, Andrew Harper rose from his favorite wingback chair in his tiny apartment at the back of the bookstore. He could no longer navigate the stairs in the old building and had moved to the new space from the upstairs apartment where he’d lived nearly all his life. The small ground-floor studio had been reclaimed from a storage room. The hurried arrangement wasn’t ideal, but it spared her grandfather from having to leave his lifelong home. Though the space was cramped, there was a picture window with a view of the tiny rear garden, now bright with the last of the season’s hollyhocks and roses.

Curving a hand over the top of his cane, he turned to her. A sweet smile lifted the corners of his mouth. “Ah, there you are, Blythe. I’ve been waiting for you. How nice you look. Is that a new frock?”

Natalie’s heart swelled as she crossed the room to him. Grandy had always been an immovable fixture in her life. From earliest memory, he had been present, restoring old books in the basement or chatting up customers in the shop. In the evening, he read stories aloud to her while she snuggled up to him, breathing in his comfortable scent of shaving lotion. She had learned wisdom and kindness through his gentle example.

And now he needed her. In the past week, he had frequently mistaken Natalie for her mother. Maybe the grief was too enormous to bear, and his failing mind had embossed Natalie’s face with her mother’s features. Though several days had passed since the shattering news, there were many moments when he refused to accept that his daughter—his only child—was gone.

Now that Natalie was here, she could see how full her mom’s hands had been as Blythe tried to look after Grandy. Somehow, Natalie would have to take over his care. He insisted he could manage on his own, but she wasn’t so sure. There were appointments to be kept with his doctor and various specialists. Meds to be dispensed. Meals to be prepared. Housekeeping to be done. Looking around, she spied a half-dozen projects that would make the room nicer. A bright coat of paint. A bookcase within reach. Maybe do something about the hulking old radiator that reluctantly groaned to life in winter.

In the light from the garden window, her grandfather looked wonderful to her—tall and dignified, timelessly handsome in a tailored suit and crisp white shirt she’d stayed up late ironing the night before. She knew he wanted to look his best for the service. He tugged ineffectually at his necktie. “Help me with this, Blythe. I can’t … I don’t know how …” His words evaporated into a cloud of confusion.